


Seven O'Clock

by SassyPants



Category: Marvel
Genre: Lust, M/M, Madness, Magic, Prison Sex, Resistance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 08:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15770250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyPants/pseuds/SassyPants
Summary: Dr. Strange goes to check on his prisoner, only to find out he's not entirely sure who's in charge.





	Seven O'Clock

The Sanctum’s clock chimed seven times as the Sorcerer Supreme made his way down the stairs, into the basement, and a floor deeper still until he reached the carven oak door leading to a chamber that always made his stomach twist to enter. Every evening he came here, despite the fact that magic could (and did) provide all the necessary cleaning, feeding, and care. Even an augury could see within those four walls, if he wanted, to reassure himself his ‘guest’ was still with him. Yet he came every night. 

He hesitated upon the threshold, like he always did. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his magic. His magic was flawless. He just wanted to see with his own eyes the villain who had once tried to enslave humanity, and would probably kill everyone within a city block without batting an eyelash, if it meant breaking through the magical binding keeping him imprisoned. Best to reaffirm those spells in person. One couldn’t be too sure.

Strange knocked out of courtesy, then opened the door. The wards held fast, and he had to push through them. It was an effort even with the conditions laid upon them to let him in. Once past that invisible barrier, there was a soundless pop and the door closed behind him of its own accord. The wards released him, letting him move freely. No one would hear a word beyond those wards, no matter how loudly screamed.

The villain lay upon the bed that dominated the room, long pale legs bare save for where the thin fabric of a emerald green robe covered his upper thighs, the fabric plunging into his groin, opening in a V over a sculpted chest. Haughty green eyes greeted Strange with contempt. But then he smiled and said, “Stephen.”

Loki Laufeyson, adopted brother to Thor, who owed Strange quite a bit for being willing to house the criminal in a prison so well-designed he couldn’t escape from it like he did all the others. 

Strange’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. Why couldn’t Loki have the decency to put on clothes once in awhile? The robe was something, at least, flimsy as it was. Mortal eyes were not made to behold such godly perfection, and he had no doubt the shapechanger made himself impossibly beautiful on purpose. Instinct told him to look away, but he lifted his chin, taking in the sight of those long limbs and natural grace. “You will address me as Sorcerer Supreme.”

Loki stretched, then rolled from his side onto all fours, crawling along the bed to its edge. “I’m bored, Stephen.”

Strange blinked away the tic at the corner of his eye, maintaining his facade of calm. “That’s not my problem.” His voice started to waver. He cleared his throat. “I see you’re still here and in fine health. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he turned to leave, Loki called out, “Wait.”

Strange paused, pushing against the Cloak that tugged him toward the door with urgency. Ignoring its attempts, he looked at Loki, arching one brow as if to say, ‘well?’

Loki slipped off the bed and rose to his feet, the robe hanging open. Even flaccid he was picturesque. Michelangelo would have wept to have such a subject. “Won’t you stay for a little while? You’re the only face I see anymore.”

“You have a television,” Strange pointed out. His pulse moved faster in his veins, and his cheeks flushed. It was an effort to keep his breath steady. He called on all his discipline. “You could see as many faces as you want.”

Loki cast the cold black screen of the television a dire look. “It’s not the same.” A frown darkened his pristine features. Looking away from Strange, he said, “I’ve grown accustomed to yours.”

The way Loki cast his glance aside was an open invitation to step closer. Strange almost fell for it. Almost. He exhaled sharply and said, “I don’t like this any more than you do, but I made a promise to keep you, and I can’t break my word.”

“As you say.” Loki bowed his head, and his long, silky black hair fell across his face like a veil. It begged to be swept back and tucked behind his ear, to reveal those wicked green eyes that twisted Strange’s stomach in knots. 

Strange raised his hand, then let it drop. The Cloak tugged him toward the door, and he murmured, “Stop it.” Despite the Cloak’s best efforts, he gave in and took a step closer to the mischief maker. “It gives me no pleasure to see you unhappy.”

Loki lifted his head, and he gazed at Strange openly, his features a mask of beautiful madness. His eyes searched Strange’s face, thin lips parted as if tasting the air. “I know of your own misery. Yours is a lonely position to be in. Don’t you see that, at least for a little while, we could both be happy?” He closed the distance between himself and the sorcerer.

Who reflexively stepped back, but then stopped, holding his ground. Fiery light crackled around him as he etched glyphs into the air, coalescing into a pair of circular shields made of energy.

Loki stopped short, holding up his hands against the magic. The wards greatly curtailed the use of his own. He smiled at Strange and said, “My dear Stephen, you’ve got me at a disadvantage. Not a position I find wholly displeasing, but it would be ever so kind of you to lower your defenses, just once, and let us simply talk to one another.”

“We’re talking,” Stephen said. The blue robes of his station concealed his growing arousal. The god’s proximity made things worse. The scent of him hit Stephen’s senses like a tomcat catching a whiff of a queen in heat. The brunt of it went right to his cock, whose goals were far more base and simple than the sorcerer’s loftier cerebral ones. Magic crackled between them, the fiery circles muting his view of the dark-haired troublemaker.

He could still see him, though, and he watched as Loki lifted a fingertip to trace along the curve of the shield. It popped and hissed, sending sparks skirling as the god’s flesh grazed it. Loki gasped and bit his lip, his features soft with sweet agony.

The shields sputtered and died. “You’re mad,” Stephen said, and his voice trembled. “That spell is potentially deadly.”

“I’m hard to kill,” Loki said, then slipped his finger between his lips, sucking away the sting.

The Cloak tugged hard on Strange, scooting him toward the door, until he finally snapped, “Enough!” The fabric sagged, then slipped off his shoulders and curled up on a chair in the corner. Even without eyes, it somehow seemed to watch him reproachfully.

"Don't you judge me," he muttered at the garment. It turns its collar away.

Amidst the distraction, Loki came nearer still and traced a damp and reddened fingertip along Strange’s cheek. “Stephen,” he whispered.

Strange swallowed and looked to Loki, who swept in and claimed a kiss. It was soft and sweet, inviting Strange to so much more if he’d only take it.

Weeks of coming to behold the god, and all that pent up desire, surged to the fore and spurred Strange into action. His fingers ached to curl in those black locks, and he moaned at their softness beneath his fingertips. He slipped an arm around Loki’s waist and tugged him closer as his tongue plunged the mischief maker’s mouth. He tasted of sweet fruits with the sharp undertone of alcohol. Strange was no so cruel a keeper as to deny his prisoner basic luxuries.

Loki draped his arms around Strange’s neck, answering the moan with a low hum of pleasure. He cleaved to Strange, making it impossible for the sorcerer to hide just how hard his cock was, pressed as it was behind layers of fabric to the god’s naked belly. Loki’s purr was a pleased sound mixed with triumph.

Strange struggled for clarity, and once it came, he pushed Loki off of him. “We can’t do this,” he panted.

Loki’s pleased look turned dark, and he gripped Strange by the back of the neck, all but frog-marching him to the bed. “I think we’re both quite capable of giving a magnificent performance,” he said. The strength within the frost giant’s body was nothing to take lightly. Stephen stumbled forward just to keep his feet beneath him. He almost unleashed a spell to send Loki flying. The gestures twitched in his fingertips. His baser instincts, however, wanted to find out where this was going, and even as he cursed his weakness, he let himself be led.

“It’s not all right,” Strange said. “I’ve imprisoned you. The ethical implications…”

Loki shrugged out of his robe, unashamed at his own arousal as he tossed Stephen on the bed. “Stephen? Dear?”

Strange landed on his back, limbs splayed, and suddenly Loki was atop him, straddling him with those long, luscious legs. “What.” 

Loki smiled softly. “Shut up,” he said. Then he kissed the sorcerer on the mouth as his nimble fingers made quick work of opening those sage and noble robes of his station.

Strange melted into the kiss, returning it as he mentally gathered together the will for another protest. It sputtered and died the moment the god got through his layers and laid hands upon bare skin. His cock twitched, and Loki curled a slender hand around it. All Strange could do was moan, his hands coming up to stroke over Loki’s shoulders and down his arms. 

For long moments, they lay in a tangle on the bed, Stephen kissing Loki hard and deep while Loki stroked his prick with a skill built of centuries defining wickedness and perversity. Each time Stephen shuddered from a thrill shooting through him, sure to bring him to completion, the god would manipulate his flesh just so to hold off that release.

It was only after Strange was writhing and begging wordlessly that Loki showed he could be merciful. His magic was dulled, not dead, and with a small gesture, a warm slickness coated his fingers, and he plied it to Strange’s cock. He was quite liberal with the stuff. Then he pinned Strange down by the shoulders and lowered himself onto that rock hard flesh.

The searing heat of Loki’s body brought a moan to Stephen’s lips. In theory, he could have cast a spell to throw the god off of him, giant strength be damned, but in practice, he gripped Loki’s thighs and pulled him down harder, enough that Loki gasped, then murmured, “Stephen, you’re hurting me.” The liquid velvet of his tone made it clear this was hardly a complaint.

Slowly, their bodies joined, and for a moment, they lay panting, Loki straddling the sorcerer, who gazed up at those delighted green eyes in wonder. The god was so tight, it seemed like it would be impossible to move within him, but strong thighs rose, drawing them apart before descending again to join them once more. 

Faster and faster, Loki rode Stephen like a creature possessed, with no other focus than getting off. His own pale cock throbbed and oozed its slickness from the head, bouncing with each descent. Strange curled his fist around it, and as Loki cried out, he started stroking. Loki’s screams echoed through the chamber, while not a peep escaped to the outside world. He stopped pinning Stephen, instead pushing his hands into his own inky hair and arching his back as he ground down on the sorcerer’s cock.

Stephen stared up at the Loki, the poor (loud) mad creature so desperate for release. He kept stroking with one hand while the other slid up Loki’s chest to pinch a pearl pink nipple. He bit his lip and arched his back with pleasure as the god clamped down and came, pulsing all around Stephen’s prick as ropes of white jism decorated his stomach and chest.

Loki sagged, letting out a pent up breath as his trembling thighs eased up their grip on Stephen’s hips. He slid off of Stephen, spent, and he let out a surprised grunt when Stephen moved with him, rolling atop him.

“My turn,” the sorcerer murmured against Loki’s ear. He thrust, filling Loki once more. Loki squirmed, sensitive to the onslaught, but Stephen wasn’t the least bit deterred. Especially when Loki melted beneath him and laced his legs around Stephen’s hips. The bed creaked with his efforts, and he buried his face against Loki’s throat, biting as he thrust home and ground his hips hard. The god was still exquisitely tight.

He let out a low, guttural cry as he buried himself deep and let his release overtake him. It came in a violent burst, followed by shuddering waves as he emptied himself in Loki’s body. The god kissed his throat and stroked his back. He collapsed atop him, gasping at each aftershock rippling through him.

The room was silent save for their harsh breathing and the whisper of the Cloak shifting about in the chair. Strange got the distinct impression he was getting the cold shoulder.

Slowly, he peeled himself off of Loki and rolled onto his back beside him, panting for breath. Loki came up on his side and gazed down at Strange, trailing his fingertips along his chest. They shared a kiss, and then Loki asked him, “Was that so bad?”

Strange murmured, “It’s still a bad idea.”

Loki nuzzled his throat. “Those are my favorite kind.”

Strange started to drift off, then stopped himself and sat up. As he adjusted his clothing, magicking away a few telltale stains, he said, “I have to go.”

Loki’s gaze never left the sorcerer. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Strange sighed, then kissed Loki tenderly. “Yes,” he said. “Do not think me so easy to corral twice.”

Loki smiled. “We’ll see.”


End file.
